


you know and i know why

by restitched (beingothrwrldly)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Hockey Boys, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingothrwrldly/pseuds/restitched
Summary: Before the draft, Jack had never had a soulmate. Not in college, not at worlds, not anywhere. By the time he'd gotten to Florida, he'd mostly convinced himself that he was one of those guys who never found one. And honestly, it was fine; he'd always been kinda independent anyway, and he could adapt to play with anybody. It wasn't like heneededa soulmate. He'd be fine.





	you know and i know why

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrimmapanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrimmapanda/gifts).



> Happy holidays, rawrimmapanda!! I loved your prompts, and I really had fun building this universe for you - I really hope you like it! I wanted to write a happy little soulmates fic and then it turned into a kinda angsty mess of feelings with a bit of soulmates thrown in - oops? I definitely have waaay more feelings about Jack and Sam now than the too many I already had when I started this, and while I did NOT ask for these feelings, I'm NOT mad about it.
> 
> Huge thanks to H, E, and A for looking this over and for cheerleading me through it, I am eternally grateful as ALWAYS. ❤️ Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from Quiet by Rachel Yamagata, and if you're one of the people mentioned in these tags or know any of these people, you REALLY need to just go away.

There are exactly three things in the world that Jack is sure of, and the first one is this: Sam Reinhart is his soulmate.

Most of the guys Jack has played with have at least one. Sometimes it's somebody they've never played with before, and sometimes it's somebody they've grown up with. There are some guys who haven't found theirs yet, and a few guys who have more than one. Some guys get split up and have a different one every year, and some guys end up with the same one forever. 

And some guys just never find one. 

Before the draft, Jack had never had one. Not in college, not at worlds, not anywhere. By the time he'd gotten to Florida, he'd mostly convinced himself that he was one of those guys who never found one. And honestly, it was fine; he'd always been kinda independent anyway, and he could adapt to play with anybody. It wasn't like he _needed_ a soulmate. He'd be fine. 

Then, when Buffalo called his name, something he couldn't describe had snapped in his chest. It hadn't _hurt_ but it felt weird, persistent, and Jack hadn't mentioned it to anyone but it never went away; it just kept getting stronger as he'd gotten closer to getting on a plane for training camp. 

By the time the plane had touched down in Buffalo, it had felt the way radio static sounds, sharp and prickly and neverending. Jack had gotten pretty good at ignoring it by that point, but the more persistent it'd gotten, the more he'd started to think that maybe he'd been wrong about being one of the guys who didn't have a soulmate. 

On the drive to his hotel, he'd been at a stoplight waiting to turn left when a voice in his head had said, clear as a bell, _Sam_. 

The first day of camp, Jack had walked into a room filled with guys and felt impossibly young and out of place, unsettled. It was loud and electric, everyone buzzing with nervous energy, and he'd grabbed a spot near the door to set down his bag.

The feeling in his chest was almost unbearable.

Sam had been across the room, sitting by himself and putting his skates on. He'd been quiet and serious and didn't say much, but at first Jack had been too worried about doing well at camp to pay much attention to anybody else. 

Jack kept looking around the room while he'd put his own skates on, recognizing some of the faces from games he's seen on TV and other faces from the draft or worlds or places he can't place, and then Sam had finished tying his skates and looked up.

Their eyes met, across the room, and suddenly the static in Jack's chest was gone like somebody had flipped a switch, and everything felt crystal clear. 

Later, he'd ended up next to Sam on the ice, waiting their turn to run through a couple of drills, when Sam had turned to him and said, "You're Jack, right?"

Jack tried to play it cool and just nodded and said, "Yeah, hi." Sam's voice was definitely the voice he'd heard in his head. Maybe. Probably.

Sam had watched him for a second too long, and then he'd smiled and his cheeks flushed pink, and he'd nodded back and said, "I'm sure you've figured it out already, but I'm Sam."

…

The second thing Jack is sure of is this: he is desperately in love with Sam.

Sam kisses Jack once, at a party at Caber's house after the last game of the season.

They've been doing shots of cheap whiskey all night, one for one, and now Sam is drunk and Jack is drunk. It's a cold night for April, but Jack feels like he's burning from the inside out, restless and uneasy and disappointed in the way the year's gone.

They're upstairs together, leaning against the wall waiting for the bathroom, when Sam turns to Jack like he's going to say something but kisses him instead. 

For a minute, Jack kisses back, but then Sam presses a hand to Jack's chest, gentle, and he pulls back. "Jack, I," he starts.

"Let's just do this, Reino, come on," Jack says quietly, his hand fisted in the front of Sam's t-shirt.

Sam shakes his head and winces a little, as though it hurts him to say it as much as it hurts Jack to hear it. "I can't…I'm sorry. _Fuck_ , I'm really fucking sorry."

Jack wakes up to a text from Sam the next day and the message fills the screen on Jack's phone. He always uses proper capitalization and punctuation, and it's so heartfelt and genuine that it makes Jack's head hurt more than the hangover already does. _I'm honestly so sorry,_ is how Sam wraps it up. _This won't happen again, I swear. Love you._

 _its ok,_ Jack writes back. It's not okay, really, but Sam is sweet and Jack can handle loving him without getting anything out of it; he can't help it, anyway, and somehow it makes him feel more secure in this whole mess. _dont worry abt it, alcohols always a bad fucking idea._

 _Meet me for breakfast?_ Sam writes back. 

Jack frowns at his phone for a long time. _yea ok sure_ , he says. 

He walks into Betty's without asking Sam if they're meeting at Betty's, and it doesn't strike him as strange until he sees Sam in a corner booth, his hood pulled up on his head, hunched over a mug of coffee and his cheek resting on his knuckles. Sam drinks his coffee black but he's stirring it with a spoon anyway, and Jack gets the urge to wrap his arms around Sam and never let go, keep him here in Buffalo forever.

Jack thinks he spends too much time worrying about Sam's future, but he can't help it.

Jack knocks twice on the edge of the table, and Sam looks up and smiles at him. "Hi," Sam says, his voice soft. "Sorry, I meant to tell you here."

"Yeah, ‘cause I've been wandering all over trying to find you." Jack slides into the other side of the booth. "You look like shit."

"Great to see you, too, fuckface," Sam says, but he's smiling. "I _feel_ like shit."

"Maybe because I feel like shit," Jack says. 

"You might feel like shit because I feel like shit, though," Sam shrugs. "Chicken or the egg?"

"Time is an endless circle," Jack says. "So, listen. About last night."

Sam's smile fades and he shakes his head. "We don't need to do an about last night thing," he says, scrunching up his nose. "I'm really sorry. Like. I hope you know."

Jack leans forward, his elbows on the table. "I want to apologize, too," he says quietly. 

"You didn't do anything," Sam says.

"I kissed you back," Jack says. "And, like. I was really drunk, and it was reckless and stupid, and I just." He exhales. "It won't happen again."

"I know," Sam says, just as quiet. "It's—I know."

"I know you _know_ ," Jack says, "but it's important that you hear it from me."

Sam laughs and ducks his head, and Jack bites hard on the inside of his cheek to focus the pain from his heartache somewhere else. "Right," Sam says gently. "I've been hearing it from you all morning." 

Okay, so Jack's been thinking about it basically nonstop. He clears his throat. "Did I keep you up?" he asks. 

"Mmhmm." Sam nods. "I'd ask if I kept you up but I already know." He taps his fingers on the table, one after the other like he's playing the piano. "You need to put walls up, bro, I don't want to know your every waking thought."

Jack feels his cheeks flush, and he looks down at the table. _I'm joking_ , a gentle voice says in his head. _Relax._

"You're not really joking, though," Jack says softly, and he looks up at Sam.

"What do you think?" Sam replies. 

Jack watches him for a long time. "I think you want to know my every waking thought," he finally says.

Sam gets a weird look in his eyes for a split second and then he blinks and it's gone. "Damn, you figured me out," he says softly, and he smiles down at his coffee like he has a secret.

Jack's almost positive Sam doesn't have a secret, but stranger things have happened.

…

The third thing Jack is sure of is this: being in love with Sam is a hopeless situation.

…

Jack goes home to Boston for a month in the summer. He spends his mornings at the gym and his afternoons doing absolutely nothing. A bunch of guys rent a house on Lake Winnipesaukee over the fourth, and he goes because Hanifin is going and he doesn't really have anything better to do, anyway. They're playing a stupid game of cornhole against nobody when Noah says, "I heard they might trade your guy this summer."

Jack's head spins. "Which guy?"

"Which guy," Noah mutters, and he shakes his head and tosses a beanbag. "Reinhart. _Your_ guy."

Jack scoffs and tosses his beanbag, and he hates how suddenly anxious he is. "Uh, no?" Jack says. His toss misses the board completely, and he makes a face. "What the fuck are you talking about, who'd you hear that from?"

"Everybody's saying he's on the chopping block," Noah shrugs. He can be too blunt; Jack hates that about him. 

"You need better sources, the ones you've got are shit," Jack says. He crosses his arms over his chest and then he sees Rodrigues walking across the yard, and Jack's never been so fucking glad to see Rodrigues in his life if it means this conversation doesn't have to continue.

"Relax, jesus," Hanifin says, laughing a little too derisively. Noah's had about a zillion soulmates just since the draft, and Jack's not sure who he's bonded with today or if it's even just one guy. "It was a simple fucking question, obviously it hit a nerve."

Later that day, Jack sits on the dock while the sun goes down. He swings his feet in the water and scrolls back through his texts with Sam, not sure what to ask him. Behind him, there's loud music drifting down from the house, and Jack feels overwhelmingly alone. _youre not getting traded right?_ he types out on his phone, but he deletes it.

 _Hanifin's kind of an idiot,_ Sam sends to Jack before Jack can send anything. _I know you like him but…_

 _he went to college and everything too_ , Jack writes back. 

_LOL,_ Sam says. _Imagine that._

Jack's phone rings, but he doesn't say anything when he answers. "Hanifin isn't going to know something like that before you do," Sam says, his voice calm, and Jack closes his eyes.

"Right," Jack says. 

"Right," Sam echoes. "It's a stupid rumor. Don't listen to that shit." Sam doesn't sound worried, but more importantly, he doesn't feel worried.

So Jack doesn't, either.

…

One morning, early in August, Jack wakes up to a text from Sam. _Check your email,_ he says. _New guy._

 _who?_ Jack writes back.

Sam still hasn't signed a contract.

 _Just read your fucking email,_ Sam says. _It's Jeff Skinner._

Jack opens his email. 

Sam calls him five minutes later. "‘He's obviously one of the top centermen in the game right now, so I think any time you have that on your team, I think it's exciting,' Skinner said of Eichel," Sam reads to him before Jack can say anything. "I think he likes you."

"Are they replacing you with him?" Jack asks. He's joking, but it doesn't really sound like a joke. Maybe it's not a joke. 

Sam doesn't laugh.

Jack feels dizzy.

…

Jack still feels _connected_ to Sam, as strong as always, and he knows that doesn't mean Sam won't get traded but Jack still clings to it like it does.

When Sam is in Buffalo over the summer, they go to the rink together to skate and they still connect on passes that neither of them has to think about. Jack can still tell what Sam is thinking and what he's going to do before he does it, and everything's fine. Off the ice, they're still finishing each other's sentences and communicating without talking, and everything's _fine_. It all still feels familiar and comfortable. Everything's fine. 

But Sam keeps dropping bits and pieces of information that Jack didn't know he knew, like Jeff's favorite book and the names of his siblings, and that's how he finds out Sam's been talking to Jeff before he's even gotten to Buffalo.

"He reads a lot," Sam says when Jack asks about the book. "Like, a _lot_."

"How does he find time," Jack says. He's frowning at the TV during a commercial break from whatever he's not watching. 

"I don't know, same as any of us do," Sam shrugs. He reads a lot, too. "Planes, on the bus, hotel rooms. Housley thinks maybe he could stay with us for a while."

The change in subject catches Jack off-guard. "Where, like, here?" Jack looks at Sam. 

"No, in our summer home, you idiot." Sam snaps his fingers twice, right in Jack's face, and Jack scowls and pushes Sam's hand away. "Are you even listening to me? Yes, here."

"You're a fucking tool," Jack says, but he doesn't mean it and Sam doesn't seem bothered anyway. "Yes, I'm listening."

"We have the extra room," Sam says. "And it's a nice thing to do."

Jack is trying not to think about it, but he wonders if Sam has heard anything about a new contract yet. 

"No, I haven't," Sam says, out loud but quieter. He's worried this time, and suddenly Jack's heart beats a little faster. "Stop asking."

"I didn't ask," Jack says quietly, and he presses his hand flat to his chest over his heart and frowns. 

Sam looks at the TV, and Jack's heartbeat goes right back to normal, like it had never sped up in the first place. "Don't do that," Jack says. 

"I didn't do anything," Sam says. His voice is still quiet. "You worry too much about what I'm gonna do. Nobody's going anywhere, these things take time."

"But what if they don't," Jack starts, but Sam is already shaking his head.

" _I'm_ not going anywhere," Sam says. He looks at Jack. "I want to stay here, I can't believe you don't feel that."

"I _do_ ," Jack says. His palms feel clammy all of a sudden and he shakes his head. "I just don't want you to be wrong."

"I'm not wrong," Sam says. He wipes his own hands on his jeans. "Quit it. It'll happen, this stuff always takes time."

Jack is pretty sure it doesn't always. 

"Yes, it does," Sam says.

"Would you get the fuck out of my head," Jack mutters, and Sam shakes his head and turns back to the TV.

"I can't help it," Sam says, resting his chin in his hand. "You never push me out."

…

The Monday before Jeff shows up in Buffalo, Jack wakes up frowning at the ceiling in his bedroom. He'd been dreaming, at least he thinks so, but in the way where he can't remember what he'd been dreaming about. A general dream feeling, he thinks, and it nags at the edges of his mind.

"Does he have one?" he says out loud. His room is empty, and he thinks he already knows the answer, but he asks anyway.

In the room next door, Sam knocks twice on the wall next to Jack's head. _No_ , Jack hears, and it's in his head but it's so loud that it makes him jump. 

_Talk to me like a normal fucking person,_ Jack thinks. He needs to work on keeping his thoughts to himself. 

Or maybe Sam is the one who needs to work on it. 

"Sorry," Sam calls out, and he knocks on the wall again.

Jack sighs and gets out of bed and goes down the hall to Sam's room. It's too early, the sun still hazy and orange through the window, and it casts light across Sam's face that makes him look regal. Sam has his hands laced together behind his head and he's looking up at the ceiling. He doesn't look at Jack, but Jack leans against the doorway and looks at Sam. "He asked me about you," Sam says, conversationally, like it doesn't mean a thing. "I think he already likes you."

Jack rolls his eyes. "So what, you're a matchmaker now?" He leans back against the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, and presses the heel of his foot against the other side of the doorframe.

"I didn't know what to tell him," Sam continues. "Like, I said we were best friends."

"We are best friends," Jack says, looking up at the ceiling to see what Sam's looking at, but all he sees is white. "Right?"

"Does this piss you off or something?" Sam says after a minute, and Jack looks at Sam and frowns. Sam finally looks over at him. 

"What the fuck about this would piss me off? That you're making friends with the new guy?" Jack asks. 

"I'm just _asking_ ," Sam says. He sounds exhausted. "You're way too on edge about this, I don't like it."

"I'm not on edge," Jack says. He steps into the room and crosses his arms over his chest. "Does he know you have one?"

"I mean, I don't know?" Sam says, like he hadn't thought about that part. "I don't know. I mean, I talk about you all the time but it's not like he _asked_ or something."

"This is stupid." Jack chews at his thumbnail and feels uncomfortable. "I mean, just tell him."

Sam sits up and scrubs a hand through his hair and frowns at Jack. "You're being, like, fucking ridiculous about this. It's not like I'm cheating on you or something, you're acting like I'm cheating on you."

"We're not even together," Jack says, and suddenly his cheeks feel hot. "Make friends with him if you want to make friends with him, I literally don't care one way or the other."

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes as he gets out of bed. "You're a nightmare," he says. "I don't know how to explain it to you."

Jack frowns at him. "Explain what?" he asks, but Sam just walks past him to the bathroom and closes the door.

…

Jack has a meeting with Housley on Monday afternoon. Sam drives him to the arena and waits in the parking lot, and when Jack gets back into the car Sam is swiping at his phone screen. "What're you doing, cruising Grindr?" Jack asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

"Yep." Sam doesn't look up but he flips Jack off with his free hand. He's still pissed from earlier, but not pissed enough for it to be a big deal anymore. "It's a book, dipshit," he says, and he turns his screen off and drops his phone into the center console. "Jeff told me about it." He looks over at Jack and his eyes are bright, alert, and Jack swallows hard. 

"Housley asked me to meet him at the airport tomorrow," Jack says. He watches Sam. "You wanna come with?"

Sam doesn't answer right away. "I mean, maybe you should go," he says. 

"You don't want to go?" Jack is sort of surprised.

"Housley asked you," Sam says, and he looks out his window. 

Jack sighs. "If you need a personal invite, I'm inviting you," he says. He's trying to sound patient, but he's not sure if it's working.

"You should just go," Sam says, suddenly blunt. 

Jack nods. "Okay."

Sam sighs. "It's just…"

"It's cool," Jack says, even though it's not and he fucking hates it.

"He's not going to…" Sam starts, but he falters at the end and shakes his head. "I don't know what you want me to say, Jack," he finally says. 

Jack doesn't say anything and Sam finally just pulls out of his parking spot and onto the main road. They're halfway home before Jack clears his throat and says, "I feel like you don't know that he's not going to replace you." 

He feels vulnerable and stupid, but it's the truth, and it's terrifying.

Sam doesn't say anything for a long time, and Jack focuses on the _click click click_ of the turn signal. The light turns green, and Sam says, too honest, "I don't know that he won't."

Jack feels like the wind's been knocked out of him, and even though the light's green, Sam doesn't turn. "Doesn't that fucking scare you?" Jack asks, and he's ashamed at how shaky his voice is.

"Yes," Sam says, without hesitating. "It does."

…

At the airport on Tuesday, Jack leans against the wall by the door at baggage claim.

He spots Jeff before Jeff spots him, and he hesitates before holding up a hand when Jeff looks in his direction. "Probably should've had a sign, right?" Jack says as Jeff approaches him, and it makes Jeff laugh.

Jeff is shorter than Jack expected and he's happier than Jack expected, smiling an easy smile at Jack. "Hey, hi," Jeff says as he walks over to him. "Sorry, I'm so bad with faces. Is it Jack, or do you prefer something else? Hi."

"No, uh," Jack says, smiling a little. His head is spinning. "Jack's fine. Hi." 

"Jeff," Jeff says, holding out a hand. "Or Skinner. Skins. Whatever you want. Nice to finally meet you!"

"He's so fucking _nice_ ," Jack tells Sam, later. He's stretched out on his back on the couch. It's a thousand degrees outside, and their air conditioner broke last week but Jack hasn't found the energy to call anybody to come fix it.

"You like him," Sam says. He's on his back on the living room floor with a fan set on full power and aimed at his face. He seems more settled about things today than he did yesterday.

Jack still feels like he's on the edge of a cliff and can't keep his balance.

"I don't know him," Jack says. He frowns at the ceiling. "He has this dimple."

Sam turns his head, and Jack looks down at him. "Oh?"

"Oh what," Jack says.

"Oh nothing," Sam says. "Just wanted to hear more about his _dimple_ , something someone would definitely notice when they're not interested in a person they just met." He pushes himself up on his elbow.

"Fuck off, it's just really dominant." Jack touches his cheek where Jeff's dimple is. "You're such a dick sometimes, I don't like him."

"It's okay if you _do_ ," Sam says. 

"I don't like matchmaker Sam," Jack announces. "This is creepy and you're crossing a line, I hate this."

"What if I think you'd be good together," Sam says.

"Maybe he has a girlfriend," Jack says. "Have you heard anything about a contract yet?" Jack asks. The idea of playing without Sam on his line makes Jack feel empty, incomplete, bottomless. 

Sam doesn't answer.

…

Sam goes back to Vancouver at the end of August.

"Don't cry too much about it," he says to Jack as he's bringing bags to the door. He has a lot of bags for somebody who's just going home for a couple weeks. Jack is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. "I'll be back before you know it."

Jeff is on the couch, watching them. They'd asked him to move in a couple weeks ago, and Jack is warming up to Jeff but he still kinda feels like Sam is being replaced.

" _Will_ you?" Jack asks. He rubs the back of his neck. "Why does it look like you're moving out?"

"I'm just bringing some stuff home," Sam says. "Don't worry about it."

Jack doesn't say, _but this is home_ , and if Sam hears him think it, he doesn't let on.

Later, when Sam's flight has taken off, Jack is walking down the hallway to his bedroom when he stops in the doorway of Sam's room. The bed is still made but the room looks empty, abandoned, and Jack frowns. 

"I mean, he's gonna come back, you know?" Jeff tells him at dinner. "Like, deals like this don't happen overnight."

Jack feels awkward, having dinner with Jeff without Sam there, too. "Yeah, no," he says, shaking his head. "I know."

…

Jeff's already sitting at the stall to the left of Jack's when Jack shows up for his physical. "Hey," Jeff says, smiling at him.

"Hi," Jack says. He drops his bag on the floor and doesn't look at the stall on his right. Sam should already be sitting there, and Sam is back from Vancouver but he's at the apartment instead of here because he doesn't have a new contract yet. It's September, and training camp starts tomorrow. It's driving Jack crazy.

"You found it okay?" Jack says to Jeff as he sits down. "Didn't get lost?"

"I mean, I've been here before," Jeff says, and he laughs a little. The dimple in his cheek makes Jack feel immediately happy. "But yeah, it was fine."

"Right, obviously." Jack looks at his phone and frowns, and he turns it off and shoves it into his bag.

"Don't you think you'd know something, if he knew something?" Jeff asks him gently. 

Jack closes his eyes for a second too long. "Probably," he says, trying to keep his voice even.

Jeff huffs out a laugh, and Jack opens his eyes and looks over at him. Jeff stands up and looks towards the door, but then he looks back at Jack. "It probably doesn't mean much, coming from me, but I really don't think you have anything to worry about," he says, too kind.

Before Jack can figure out exactly what he's talking about, Jeff is already out the door.

…

They have three full days of training camp without Sam.

Jack sees Sam at home at night, and they go to the rink together after dinner like they always do in the summer, but Sam isn't part of training camp.

Everything's fine, except for all the ways where it's decidedly not fine. 

Jack doesn't want to be dramatic, but by the morning of the fourth day, he wants to die. He feels unsettled and out of place all over the ice, and he can't connect with anybody until Housley puts Jeff on his wing and suddenly everything that's felt off-kilter clicks into place. 

"I'm not trying to replace him, you know?" is the first thing Jeff says to him when they're back in the dressing room. 

"No, I know," Jack says as he turns his phone back on, and it surprises him when he realizes he's starting to believe it. Jack looks at his phone and he has a missed call and three texts, all from Sam. 

_Of all ppl to not answer their phone right now!!_

_I'll be at camp tomorrow, we should celebrate tonight._

_Actually, no, because I really don't want to be late tomorrow._

"Did he get a deal?" Jack says out loud, and he texts Sam. _did u get a deal??????_

Sam sends back, _YES I've been trying to get ahold of you, where have you been??_

Jack's been working on his focus while he's on the ice, and he frowns at his phone. _dunno, i think maybe i accidentally blocked u out?? sorry i guess._

His phone rings.

"I was skating," Jack answers like it's an apology.

"I thought you wanted me to hear your every waking thought," Sam says. 

"Oh, I still do," Jack says, grinning down at his feet. "You finally made a deal."

"Finally did," Sam says. 

Jack is suddenly hit with a wave of relief. "How long am I stuck with you for now?" he asks, and he holds his breath.

"Two more years," Sam says. Jack's a little disappointed that it's not longer, but he'll take two years. "Unless they trade you. _Until_ they do, I mean."

"Fuck off," Jack laughs. 

Sam laughs, too. "Told you there wasn't anything to worry about," he says. "It's done."

…

Jack has his headphones on when Jeff lands in the empty seat next to him on the flight out of San Jose. They'd lost in regulation, five to one, and Jack hadn't been able to connect with Sam or Jeff all night. They're barely two weeks into the season, but Jack already feels hopeless.

Sam is already asleep, one row ahead. 

Jack looks at Jeff but doesn't take his headphones off, and Jeff looks back at him like he expects Jack to take his headphones off.

 _Just take your headphones off_. Sam's voice is quiet but it's definitely Sam's voice. 

Jack sighs and takes his headphones off. 

"So, listen," Jeff says quietly. "Do I scare you, or something? I feel like you're scared."

"I'm not scared," Jack says honestly. He's not sure how to explain it, though, and Jeff sighs. 

"Okay, well," Jeff says. "I mean, it's okay, if you are? But I think we should really try and, like, work through it." 

"It's the situation," Sam says out loud, and Jack rolls his eyes before he looks up at Sam. Sam is turned around in his seat, arms crossed on the seat back and his chin resting on his wrists. "The situation scares him."

"Jesus Christ," Jack mutters. "Weren't you _just_ sleeping?" 

Sam shrugs. "I woke up."

"If we hit turbulence while you're sitting like that, you're going to fly out of your seat and slam into the ceiling," Jack says cheerfully. "You could die."

"Cool, that's a risk I'm willing to take," Sam says.

"Look," Jeff says, turning back to Jack, "I know you guys already have a thing, and I just have one season left on this contract, we just need to figure out how to—"

"No," Jack and Sam both say it at the same time, and Jack scowls at Sam while Sam just looks smug. 

"We don't have a thing," Jack says. "It's…"

"Complicated," Sam says.

Jeff frowns and glances back and forth between them before settling back on Jack. "Uh," he says, and he sounds caught off-guard. "Okay?"

Sam gives Jack a weird look and sits back down in his seat, and Jack suddenly can't get a good read on him but his heart is racing. 

"I'm just saying," Jeff says. "I think we owe it to the team to figure out how to make this work."

"I think so, too," Jack says quietly.

Jeff watches him, and then he glances at the back of Sam's seat before locking eyes with Jack. "I thought, um," he says carefully. "Sorry, about…that. I thought there was something…sorry."

Jack shakes his head. "It's complicated," he says again, because he's not sure what else to say.

…

They're playing Vancouver when Sam takes a puck to the mouth, seven minutes into the first period.

Jack doesn't have time to think before he's off the bench to take Sam's spot on the ice as the trainers take him down the tunnel, but he's having a hard time focusing as Jeff takes the faceoff. Jeff looks to his left and then meets Jack's eyes when he looks to his right, lightning quick. _Settle_ , Jack hears in the back of his mind, _I need you to focus_ , and then his vision goes blurry for a split second.

Horvat wins the faceoff but Jack only manages to get his stick on the puck a couple of times before he fully loses focus, and he passes to Jeff before going back to the bench. He stumbles when he steps through the door and before he can say he just needs to breathe, Housley sends him down the tunnel, too.

Sam is sitting on the bench getting his lip stitched up, and he's sitting still but gripping the bench so tight that his knuckles have gone white. He glances over without moving his head as Jack walks in with the trainers, and Jack takes a deep breath as he takes his helmet off. "I'm alright, I just felt dizzy. Just need to breathe," Jack says to the trainers, but he already feels his focus coming back, knowing Sam is alright.

Jack sits on the bench next to Sam while they check his pulse and all his vitals, and he feels like a complete fucking idiot. "No pain in your knees," the trainer says, "nothing in your ankles?"

Jack shakes his head. 

"He's fine," Sam says quietly, and Jack looks over at him. They've finished stitching him up and he's wiping blood off his face with a towel, and he looks terrible and beautiful and Jack feels dizzy again.

"You're a fucking mess," Jack says, and Sam laughs a little but it makes Jack wince. 

"No shit," Sam says. He touches his lip at the corner of his mouth and sucks in a breath. "Left Skins out there all alone, eh?"

"He can handle it," Jack says. He still feels unsettled.

Sam is quiet while the trainers clean up around them, and then they have a quick moment alone. "That's never happened before," Sam says quietly. 

Jack runs his tongue across his own teeth and can't stop glancing down at Sam's lip. "What, Skinner handling it?" 

"You coming back here when I'm back here," Sam says. He pushes his shoulder against Jack's shoulder. "You alright?"

"Couldn't focus, that's all," Jack says. He looks at his hands and they won't stop shaking. "Can't really explain it." He thinks he can maybe explain it, but he's not sure. He looks at Sam. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam says, quiet. 

"Did you block me out?" Jack asks, just as quiet.

Sam doesn't say anything for a long time. "Just for a while," he says softly. "Didn't want you to…" He trails off, and Jack holds his breath. "I don't even know where to start, Eichs," Sam says wearily, and he looks down at his hands. 

Suddenly, the room is filled with people as the period ends, and Sam gets swept up in the chaos. 

Jack is watching Sam talk to Housley when Jeff sits down next to Jack, breathless. "Hey," Jeff says.

Jack feels how unfocused Sam is even though Sam's trying hard to be alert. "How's it going out there?" Jack asks. His hands won't stop shaking. 

"Still up by one," Jeff says. "Are you alright?"

Jack shakes his head and looks at Jeff. "What?"

Jeff watches him for a long time, like he's getting a read on Jack that makes Jack feel torn open, exposed. Jack's pretty sure he's worried. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay," Jeff says quietly.

Sam does go back out with everyone when the second period starts, but they keep Jack in the room for a couple minutes longer. When he finally gets the clear to go back out, he still feels unsettled but his hands aren't shaking anymore.

He sits next to Sam on the bench and Sam doesn't say anything, but then the whistle goes for a TV timeout and he knocks his knee against Jack's. "Sorry," he says, simple and quick, and Jack looks back at him. 

Housley sends Sam back out on the ice without Jack. Jack doesn't have time to respond. 

With less than two minutes on the clock in the third, they're both on the ice when Sam scores and ties the game at three. Jack locks eyes with him when they're behind the net with Jeff, and Sam gives him a quick smile before getting swept up by Dahlin and Risto. Jack looks up at the scoreboard for a split second, and when he looks back down Sam is already gone, skating to the bench. 

They win in a shootout, but Jack still can't focus.

"I thought he played awesome," Jack says when the media asks about the game, about Sam. Sam is next to him, talking to another group of reporters. "I think this is one of the best games I've seen him play. I thought he was dominant."

By the time the group around Jack disperses, Sam is already gone.

"I think he left with Tommer, I'm not sure," Jeff says as he's walking with Jack to Jack's car. "He's too quiet, you've gotta really watch him, you know?"

When they get home, Sam's bedroom door is closed. 

_are you home?_ Jeff texts to the group chat. 

_sore_ , Sam texts back. _needed some quiet sorry._

Jack doesn't send anything. 

Jeff settles in on the couch with a book, and Jack keeps pacing back and forth in the kitchen, doing dishes and organizing the cabinets and trying not to think about Sam's bedroom door being closed. 

"Why don't you just _knock_ on it," Jeff finally says. 

"Knock on what?" Jack asks.

"You're an extremely difficult person to deal with sometimes," Jeff says. "His _door_."

"I'm not the only difficult person to deal with," Jack says, walking back to the living room with a dish towel. "You don't know how difficult _he_ can be to deal with."

"I didn't say you were the only one," Jeff says patiently. He turns his book facedown on his knee and looks over. "All he did was—"

"I don't need any advice," Jack says, too quick.

Jeff exhales loudly. "You're both fucking idiots," he says, and it catches Jack off-guard to hear him say the word _fucking_.

"We're a bad influence on you," Jack says. He feels kinda bad. 

Jeff picks up his book again. "I know," he says. 

"Your family's gonna be so disappointed the next time you see them and you're dropping dollar after dollar into the swear jar," Jack says.

Jeff laughs at that. "I _know_ ," he says. "I've gotta find a new place to live." He looks up at Jack and smiles. "I mean, I won't, maybe. But I should."

Jack is starting to regret cutting him off. "You shouldn't," he says. "It's kinda nice having you here."

Jeff smiles at him, brighter than the sun, and Jack smiles back. "I like it here," Jeff says. "I think I'm a nice balance between the two of you."

Jack's curiosity gets the better of him and he says, "What were you going to say, before?" he asks. "All he did was what?" 

Down the hall, Jack hears Sam's door open.

Jeff watches him. "It isn't that complicated, you know," he says gently. "He just knew that puck was coming. Didn't want you to feel it." He glances down the hallway. "I'm not sure if you don't know it, or maybe you don't want to know it? But he's in love with you."

 _Come talk to me_ , Jack hears in his head. 

"You should stop pretending you're not," Jeff says kindly, and he looks at Jack for a long time before turning back to his book. 

Jack feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

He opens his mouth to say _I'm not_ , and then he closes it without saying anything. Jeff smiles at him. "Don't lie to me," he says. 

"I didn't," Jack says quietly.

Jeff keeps smiling. "It seemed like you were going to."

"This is a weird situation," Jack says, gesturing vaguely. He's not sure what he's talking about. Maybe everything.

Jeff laughs and tilts his head. "It's kinda weird," he says.

Sam is curled up in bed with his back to the door, an ice pack melting slowly on his nightstand. Jack walks in and picks it up and sets his dish towel under it. From the way Sam is breathing, Jack can tell he's not asleep. "How's it going?" he asks, and he sits on the edge of Sam's bed. 

"Fucking hurts," Sam says. He's quiet for a while and then he says, "I know Skinner told you."

"Yeah," Jack says, unsure of which part Sam's talking about. "I can handle a little pain, you could've told me."

"Jack," Sam says, quiet. 

Jack frowns at the floor. "What?" he says. His head is throbbing. 

Sam sighs. "I know he _told_ you," he says, barely above a whisper. 

Jack looks over his shoulder and Sam's rolled over and is watching him, his arm folded under his head. "Do you remember that night last spring, at Caber's party?" Jack asks him.

Sam rolls onto his back and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Yes," he says. "Biggest fucking regret of my life."

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?" Jack watches him. He hopes it doesn't sound accusatory, because he doesn't mean it that way. He's not even mad, really, just confused and overwhelmed and shocked that Sam managed to keep this from him. "You know how I feel, Sam, you don't need me to say it because you already _know_."

"We were so drunk that night, and it was such a fucking bad year," Sam says. "And I thought, maybe you didn't really want me to know, because we were so fucking drunk, you know? And, like. You said it was reckless and stupid."

Jack winces and looks away. "That was maybe not…"

"It _was_ ," Sam says softly. "Reckless and stupid."

Jack nods slowly. "Maybe. Yeah." He feels Sam's hand on the small of his back, warm and steady, and Jack closes his eyes. 

"I love you," Sam says after a minute. Jack looks over his shoulder again and Sam's eyes are bright, and Jack holds his breath. "Like. More than…" He pauses for a long time. "More than anything. I can't think of anything I love more than you."

Jack forgets to exhale until he feels like he's going to pass out. 

"Please say something," Sam says softly, after too many minutes have gone by, but Jack doesn't know what to say.

"I don't know what to say that you don't already know," Jack finally says, so quietly. "Like, obviously I love you back." He turns a little to face Sam and Sam's hand drops onto the mattress.

"It isn't that obvious," Sam says. "It scares you."

"It doesn't _scare_ me," Jack says. 

"I thought maybe after I signed, you'd be more…" Sam frowns. "I don't know. Less…whatever you are that isn't scared."

"It doesn't _scare_ me," Jack says again, "it just…" 

Sam closes his eyes. "Well, it scares the shit out of me," he says wearily. "So it's fucking _okay_ if it scares you."

Jack nods. "Okay," he says. He feels bad. 

"You're so fucking frustrating," Sam says softly, and he pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. 

"Are you in pain?" Jack watches him. 

"Yes," Sam says. 

"Do you want to take something?" Jack asks. "I can get you something if—"

"I want you to just let yourself love me _back_ ," Sam says, and his voice breaks. "Jesus Christ, Jack, stop fucking _fighting_ it so hard, it's _okay_ if you're scared because I'm scared, too."

Jack doesn't have any idea what to say. 

"I didn't mean to say that out loud," Sam says quietly. His eyes are still closed. 

"You did say it out loud," Jack says quietly. 

"I know I did," Sam says. "You needed to fucking hear it."

Jack still doesn't know what to say. 

"It literally hurts to talk to you," Sam says.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Jack says, "I—"

"Stop making me _talk_ ," Sam whispers, and he tugs at Jack's arm. _Lay down with me instead_ , Jack hears in his head. 

"Nobody's _making_ you talk," Jack says as he toes off his shoes, and he lays down on his side facing Sam. "And this isn't exactly the opposite of talking." He watches Sam, but Sam still doesn't open his eyes. 

"Please just shut up," Sam says. 

"Have you been hiding this from me?" Jack asks carefully. 

Sam nods. "I didn't want to burden you with it," he says. 

"I thought it hurt to talk," Jack says. 

Sam looks over at him. "It does," he says, "but you won't shut up."

"I mean, you could just nod," Jack says. "They're yes or no questions. Blink something in Morse code. Fucking _think_ something, you don't seem to care about taking over my head any other time." 

"Oh my god, would you just shut the fuck _up_ ," Sam whispers. 

"Why, does it hurt to listen, too?" Jack whispers back. 

Sam laughs a little at that, and then he shuts his eyes tight and lets out a shaky breath. "What the fuck are we doing, Eichs?" Sam asks. 

He could mean a million different things. 

"Maybe we could just stay here for a while," Jack says. He curls his hand into a fist, his arm folded against his chest, because all he wants to do is touch Sam but he's not sure if it's allowed. Everything feels uncertain.

"Okay," Sam nods, and he opens his eyes and looks at Jack. They're rimmed in red, just a little, and an invisible fist closes around Jack's heart. 

Jack can't help it when he puts a hand on Sam's neck, and he can't help it when he kisses Sam's forehead, either. _I'd kiss you for real if you didn't hurt_ , he can't help thinking. 

"I wish you would," Sam whispers back, and he puts his hand on Jack's wrist so Jack doesn't pull his hand away.

They fall asleep like that. 

Jack wakes up before sunrise and hears Jeff in the kitchen. Sam is still asleep.

Jack kisses him on the forehead again, and Sam just sighs and turns his face into his pillow. Jack feels like his heart is too big for his chest. 

He gets up.

Jeff is sitting at the table tying his sneakers, and he looks up when Jack walks into the kitchen. "Morning," Jeff says, smiling. 

"Hi," Jack says. He pours himself a cup of coffee. "You're up early."

"Yeah, thought I'd go for a run before heading over to the rink." Jack walks over and sits down across from him, and Jeff finishes tying his shoes and sits up. "So," he says after a minute, "I'm not trying to pry." 

"Oh, of course not," Jack says, and he smiles a little. His stomach is in knots. 

Jeff laughs. "Just wanted to make sure everything's okay," he says. "No details necessary. I know you slept in there."

Jack blushes and looks down. "It's…fine," he says. He hears the water running in the bathroom down the hall, and his stomach ties itself in even more knots than it's already in. "I mean. I guess? I don't know."

The water turns off. 

"Well, if you need to talk, or whatever." Jeff stands up as Sam walks into the kitchen. Jeff looks over at him and Sam holds up a hand in a wave. "How's it going, bud?" Jeff asks, but he winces a little as he says it. 

Sam gives him a thumbs down. 

"Take something if you need to," Jeff says, and he claps Sam on the shoulder as he walks by. 

Sam sits down at the table across from Jack, and Jack just watches him until he hears the front door click shut. "You want something for breakfast?" Jack asks, and Sam wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. 

"Eating anything is the last thing I want to do right now," Sam says. "Actually, talking's the last thing."

"What an ideal injury for you, huh?" Jack says, smiling carefully. "Perfect excuse to not have to talk."

"Mmhmm," Sam says. "Never gonna let this heal, great experience. Ten out of ten."

Jack laughs and presses his hand flat to the table, spreading his fingers out and studying the spaces between them. He can see Sam watching him, and Jack lets out a little sigh and says, "Should we do an about last night thing, or…?"

"We don't have to," Sam says softly. "Nothing's really changed." He rests his chin on his knuckles and keeps watching Jack.

"A lot's changed, Reino," Jack says gently. 

"It's just not a secret anymore, Eichs," Sam says.

"That's a big change," Jack says softly. 

"Well, I don't think it is," Sam says. 

Sam keeps pressing two fingers to his lip, one on each side of his stitches, and finally Jack reaches across the table and pushes his hand away. "Would you cut it out?" Jack says softly. "You're gonna make it bleed."

Sam watches him. "What would you even say," he says. "If we did an about last night thing."

"What, like, hypothetical?" 

Sam nods. 

Jack worries at his bottom lip for a minute and shakes his head. "Dunno," he says, because it's the truth. "You?"

Sam sighs, and he pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. "Nothing's changed, Jack," he says softly, like he means it. He's walked around the table like he's going back to his room, but he stops next to Jack, and he puts his hand on Jack's shoulder. "I still love you."

"More than anything?" Jack says, meaning for it to sound lighter than it does. 

It doesn't sound light. He winces. 

Sam doesn't say anything at first. He lets his hand rest on Jack's shoulder for a moment too long, and Jack wants to reach up and curl his fingers around Sam's wrist, press his fingertips to Sam's pulse to make sure they're both still alive. 

Jack _feels_ alive. 

Sam squeezes his shoulder, and when Jack looks up Sam is watching him with sad eyes. "More than anything," Sam says, soft and sure, and when he pulls his hand away Jack feels immediately incomplete.

…

After Vancouver, they keep winning, but Jack can't get a read on Sam at all.

He's pretty sure there's no way those things are related.

Sam still acts normal around him, and they still play video games at home and go to the gym together. Things feel unremarkably normal but they're still off, somehow. Jack can't figure it out but it feels that way on the ice, in the locker room, in their hotel rooms, at home. Sam gets an assist for Jeff in the game against Tampa, and he bumps his glove against Jack's afterwards but then they skate off in opposite directions. It feels normal, but it's not normal, and Jack doesn't know what to do.

 _Talk to me_ , Jack thinks later, lying awake in bed. They fly out early for Winnipeg in the morning, but he can't settle his mind long enough to fall asleep. He stares at the ceiling.

Sam doesn't answer.

Sam sits with Jeff on the plane. Jack sits across the aisle with headphones on and pretends to be asleep.

In Winnipeg, Jack gets an assist for Jeff, too. They're all on the ice together again, and Sam reaches up and knocks a glove against Jack's helmet during the celly. Jack looks at him and makes eye contact and Sam looks like he wants to say something, but Jack can't fully connect with him to find out what it is.

Jack feels like he's slowly going crazy.

On the flight out of Pittsburgh, Jack sits with Jeff before Sam can, and Jeff plugs a splitter into the headphone jack on his iPad so they can watch The Truth About Sugar. “I can't believe you're making me watch this," Jack says as he untangles the cord on his headphones, but he's not mad about it. Jeff's been talking about it for a couple of days, enough where Jack's almost watched it on his own but he knows Jeff would be disappointed if he did. 

"Hey, nobody's making you do anything," Jeff says happily.

Sam is already asleep, three rows ahead of them. 

Jack follows the documentary in the beginning but he feels hazy and outside of his body, and he ends up falling asleep. He wakes up when the credits are rolling at the end, and Jeff is taking his headphones off. "Ah, shit," Jack murmurs, taking his headphones off and hanging them around his neck, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "Sorry, I—"

Jeff is shaking his head. "No, no, it's cool," he says, and he looks at Jack and smiles. "You needed the sleep."

"You don't know what I need for sleep," Jack says, and he smiles back. "You're not like, my mom or something."

"I mean, I'm basically your mom," Jeff says with a shrug.

Jack laughs. "I guess you kinda are, that's true."

"It is true, I don't make the rules." Jeff pauses and squints at Jack for a minute. "Actually, I _do_ make the rules, because I'm basically your mom."

They have a day off before the game at home against Philadelphia, and Sam disappears early without telling Jack he has plans. "It's fine if he has plans, I don't care," Jack says to Jeff over breakfast.

"Sure," Jeff says like he doesn't believe Jack at all.

Jack feels like he should go to the gym after breakfast but he's not really _into_ the idea of working out, so he tags along with Jeff to a bookstore instead. Jack walks up and down the aisles, brushing his fingertips across cracked spines of used books. It smells like the library, and Jack forgets for a minute that he's not back in Boston. "You don't ever go to like, Barnes and Noble?" Jack asks while Jeff is flipping through a book of poems.

"You know, I do," Jeff says. "But I like used books better, I guess. I don't know." He's blushing a little, like he's embarrassed by his answer, and Jack smiles because he's charmed by it.

"Used books have a history," Jack says, "I get it." He takes a worn out copy of The Wizard of Oz off the shelf. "I always loved this book."

"I want to have a huge library," Jeff says. "Whenever I find a place to settle down. Floor to ceiling shelves, you know. The whole thing."

"You read so much more than I can ever find time for," Jack says.

"I like books," Jeff says, shrugging. He taps the corner of his book against The Wizard of Oz. "It's kinda funny. I came here with Reino a couple weeks ago, he picked this one up too." Jeff smiles carefully at Jack, like he knows things are weird even though Jack hasn't come out and _said_ things are weird. "You should just talk to him," Jeff says quietly.

"He can talk to me," Jack says.

"He can, but you _could_ just swallow your pride and step up, too," Jeff says.

"Novel concept," Jack says.

"Isn't it, though?" Jeff smiles big at him. "Nice book-related pun, I like what you did there."

Jack tucks the book under his arm and laughs. "It wasn't intentional, but I'm gonna pretend it was."

Jeff grins and turns back to the bookshelves. "You know," he says after a minute, "it is fucking scary."

"Please stop swearing," Jack whispers, wincing.

Jeff laughs. "If you don't do something, you're either gonna go crazy or never stop wondering what if." He looks at Jack again, and his smile fades and his eyes go a little sad. Jack's chest hurts. "Don't spend the rest of your life wondering what if."

…

Going into the game against Philadelphia, they've won six in a row. Jack doesn't like to get his hopes up too high, but he feels _good_ about their streak.

By the end of the first period, they're up by four.

Jack feels _really_ good about that.

The Flyers get two in the second, and in the dressing room during the intermission, Sam is quiet to Jack's right. Jack unties and reties his skates, and he's about to say something when Sam sighs and says, quietly, "I hate when they cut the lead like that."

"We're still up," Jack says, and he looks over. "It's a solid lead."

"Stresses me out, that's all," Sam says, and he glances at Jack, his expression carefully blank.

"That doesn't normally stress you out," Jack says quietly.

"Well, today it does," Sam says.

They go back out for the third and they keep the lead, and then, two minutes before the end of the game, Philadelphia pulls their goalie. Jack takes a shot at the empty net that goes wide, but he beats Gostisbehere to get the puck back and passes it, fast, to Sam.

When Sam scores, it feels like fireworks go off in Jack's head.

Sam looks stunned, like he can't believe it went in, and Jack gets to him first and puts an arm around Sam's shoulders, knocking their helmets together. "Fucking beautiful," he says, and then he thinks, _I miss you_ when Sam meets his eyes.

 _I miss you too_ , Jack hears immediately, and he almost loses his balance. Sam looks exhausted.

Jack has to turn away and he bumps his glove against Tommers' glove while his heart tries to beat its way out of his chest. He turns back to Sam but Sam just shakes his head and skates back to the bench. _Not now_ , Jack hears in his head, and every inch of his body feels like it's suddenly on fire as he skates over, too.

He sits next to Sam while the final seconds tick down. The crowd is wild and they're basically guaranteed the win at this point, but it's still exciting and Jack feels overwhelmed when they go back to the dressing room.

Seven in a row.

They're off on Thursday, and Jeff wants to go out after the game but Jack is exhausted, inside and out. "Any other night, seriously," Jack says when Jeff pouts at him.

But then Bogosian and Pommer tell him they'll go out and Sam says, "Yeah, I'll go for a while."

"Hey," Jack says, frowning at him. 

Sam presses his lips together and shrugs. "Not all night," he says. "You could come out for a little while."

So Jack goes out for a little while.

Jeff's idea of going out is to go to a little sports bar that's mostly empty by the time they get there. Jack sits at their table in the corner with a beer while Jeff and Pommer play the most intense game of table tennis against Zach and Sam that Jack's ever seen.

Jeff and Pommer win and then Jeff immediately challenges Pommer to a game. "Competitive little fucker," Sam says, sitting down at the table next to Jack and dropping his paddle on the table.

"Turned on his teammate pretty quick, didn't he?" Jack says, and Sam picks up Jack's beer and takes a drink. Zach's still at the table, keeping the peace by playing referee, and Jack swallows hard and looks at Sam.

Sam looks at Jack.

"What was that tonight?" Jack asks softly. He rubs a thumb across the condensation on his glass, and Sam looks down at the table.

"What was what tonight?" Sam asks.

"Don't," Jack says. He knocks his knee against Sam's under the table.

"I'm fucking exhausted, Eichs," Sam says quietly. He looks at Jack and there are dark circles under his eyes. "Keeping you out is fucking exhausting, and I can't focus on anything, and I can't sleep, and I know you don't want—"

"You don't know what I don't want," Jack says quickly. "I haven't been able to talk to you for like, _weeks_."

Across the room, Jeff yells when Pommer scores against him.

"I hate being like this with you, Jack," Sam says resignedly. "I don't want to be like this anymore, I _hate_ it." He presses his lips together and closes his eyes for a second.

Jack watches Jeff and Pommer for a long time, and Sam doesn't say anything else. "It fucking scares the shit out of me," Jack finally says. His voice is a little shaky, and he can't bring himself to look at Sam.

Next to him, he hears Sam exhale. "That's literally all you had to say," Sam says quietly.

"I don't know what to do about it," Jack says. Pommer scores again and Jeff yells again and under the table, Sam takes his hand and squeezes quick before letting go.

"Nobody ever does," Sam says.

Jack looks over at him. "You look fucking exhausted," Jack says. Sam blinks slowly and Jack can't help it when he thinks, _you look beautiful anyway and I love you anyway._

"You should say the nice things out loud instead," Sam says quietly, and he smiles at Jack in a way that makes Jack's heart stutter and skip a beat. "I know it's like, your brand or whatever, to be an asshole."

"You've been ignoring me for like, two weeks," Jack says. "I'm allowed to be a little bit of an asshole."

"What's your excuse the rest of the time, then?" Sam asks, and he tilts his head a little.

Jack rolls his eyes and feels like his chest is going to burst.

"Can we just, like, go home?" Sam gestures towards where Jeff is laughing while Pommer talks shit. "We can just get an Uber or something."

"This was _your_ idea," Jack says, but he downs the rest of his beer and stands up.

"Yeah, and I really twisted your fucking arm to get you to come along," Sam says. He already has the Uber app up on his phone. "It says twelve minutes."

When they get home, Jack fumbles his keys at the door because Sam is standing too close; he finally gets the door unlocked and pushes it open, and he steps aside and lets Sam go in first. "When'd you become such a gentleman?" Sam asks.

"Fuck off," Jack mutters, and he shrugs his jacket off and hangs it up next to the door. He can hear his pulse in his ears, and he closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before turning back to Sam. "Listen—"

"I miss you," Sam says before Jack can say anything else, his voice soft but strong. "And I still love you, more than anything. That's what that was tonight."

Jack stands there, stupid, and he watches Sam. "Yeah?"

Sam rolls his eyes a little and he says, "Yeah."

Jack pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and focuses on breathing, in and out, in and out. "So, listen," he says when he feels like his voice isn't shaking. "I should probably just, like…I mean, I really fucking love you. You should probably know that, like, for sure."

Sam breaks into a smile that's bright enough to light up the whole room, and Jack has to press his hand to the wall to steady himself. "For sure?" Sam says.

Jack rolls his eyes but he can't help smiling back. "For sure," he says. "Yeah."

"See, was that so fucking hard?" Sam asks, and he doesn't wait for Jack to answer before Sam's pushing him back against the door and kissing him breathless.

Jack trips over his own feet and pushes his hands into Sam's hair and tugs a little, and Sam hums softly into Jack's mouth. "We're good together," Sam whispers when he pulls back to take a breath, "you and me."

Jack doesn't open his eyes, and his throat is tight so he doesn't say anything, either. _Yes,_ he thinks instead, desperate, and Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into a hug. Jack hugs back, cupping the back of Sam's head, and Sam turns his face into Jack's neck and sighs softly. 

They stand there like that, intertwined in the same spot in the dark, and Jack swallows hard until he can trust his voice again. "You don't have to be scared anymore," Sam whispers against his neck. "You know that, right?"

He sounds uncertain, for a second, and it makes Jack hug him tighter and whisper, "Yes."

…

Their win streak ends in Tampa.

On the flight to Miami, Sam lets Jack take the window seat. It's quiet on the plane and Sam turns out the reading lights and pushes their armrest up before the plane takes off. "That kinda sucked," Sam says softly when the plane does take off.

"I was _pissed_ you didn't get a hatty," Jack says. He forces himself to yawn to make his ears pop.

"Yeah, same," Sam says, but he doesn't sound pissed. He tugs at his earlobe and frowns a little. "But two out of three ain't bad, isn't that how the song goes?"

Jack leans back against the headrest and nods. "Yeah, but I wish you'd sing it instead," he says, and Sam laughs. "Sucks to break that streak."

"Right?" Sam shakes his head and keeps tugging at his earlobe.

"Just make yourself yawn," Jack says. He reaches over and pulls Sam's hand away. "I don't think it's good for you to pull on your ear like that."

Sam leans down and digs around in his bag. "I don't know what you mean when you say that, I don't know how to do that." He pulls a pack of gum out of his bag and offers it to Jack, and Jack doesn't really want any gum but he takes a piece anyway. "I don't know anybody else who knows how to do that."

" _Everyone_ does that," Jack says, and he laughs a little. "I can't believe you don't know how?"

Sam pulls out his blanket and shakes it open, and he looks at Jack. Jack can't really see his face in the dark but he can feel Sam's happiness and it catches him off-guard. "I'm gonna poll everybody," he says, settling back in his seat and draping the blanket across them both. "I bet you're the only one who does that."

"What, like, right now?" Jack watches him as Sam finds Jack's hand under the blanket, linking their fingers together, and Jack shivers. "Pretty sure everybody'd rather be sleeping than answer your stupid poll."

"Not right now," Sam says softly, and he squeezes Jack's hand twice. "I'd rather do this right now."

…

They lose again in Miami.

In the game, Jack finds Sam two different times that count, and it makes the loss sting a little less.

Back in their hotel room, Sam has Jack's wrists pinned down to the mattress and he's sucking a slow bruise into Jack's neck when Jack shuts his eyes tight and says, "Maybe we're better together when we're losing."

The door to the patio is open and the air in the room is hot, humid. Sam likes it because they have to be quiet, and Jack hates it because they have to be quiet.

Sam laughs softly against Jack's skin and scrapes his teeth across Jack's collarbone, and Jack arches his back and sucks in a breath. "You have _got_ to shut the fuck up," Sam whispers against his neck, pressing his palms against the pulse points in Jack's wrists, and Jack closes his eyes and laughs. "Hockey is the _last thing_ I'm thinking about right now."

"What are you thinking about right now?" Jack asks, and he opens one eye and grins at Sam.

"How much I _don't_ want to suck your dick anymore," Sam mutters, but he doesn't move from where he's straddling Jack's hips, and his dick is still hard against Jack's thigh. "You've got a one track mind, honestly, and it's the wrong fucking track."

"But listen, though," Jack says, partly because he wants to get this out before he forgets about it but partly because he wants to fuck with Sam.

Sam laughs against his neck but it sounds strained. "Can we just table your theory until later?" He sits back a little but doesn't let go of Jack's wrists. "I mean. I'm interested, but I'm also _super_ in the middle of something here."

"Okay," Jack says. _You're beautiful,_ he thinks helplessly.

Sam grins, his cheeks flushed. "You never say the nice stuff out loud," he says softly.

"It's more meaningful this way," Jack says, grinning back.

Sam leans back down and noses at the skin behind Jack's ear. "If you want me to suck your dick tonight, say the nice things out loud and quit talking about hockey," Sam whispers, breathless, and he presses kisses to Jack's chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

"Oh my god, you're so romantic," Jack whispers back. "C'mon, you'll still suck my dick no matter what." He wants Sam to kiss him again, wants to lean up and and kiss Sam himself until Sam can't think about anything either. But Sam still has him pinned down by the wrists and Jack kinda likes being teased like this, if he's being totally honest.

Sam laughs and tightens his grip on Jack's wrists. "Yeah, you think so," he whispers. "Keep talking about hockey and see what happens." He kisses Jack roughly, sucking at his bottom lip, and Jack's caught so off-guard by it that he forgets his own name.

Jack kisses back and struggles a little against Sam's grip. Sam hums softly, licking into Jack's mouth, and Jack whimpers before he can stop himself. Jack feels Sam smile against his mouth and then Sam whispers, "You alright?"

"Let go, come on," Jack whispers back, his heart racing. He doesn't expect Sam to let go but Sam does; for a moment, time stands still.

Sam sits back and closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and Jack watches him, thinking about how much more dramatic Sam's features look in the dark than they look during the day. Sam's breathing is shallow and his hair is messy across his forehead. He's still straddling Jack's hips but he's tucked his toes underneath Jack's calves, and his toes are cold but his skin is damp from the heat coming in the door from outside. His face keeps catching the moonlight and his eyelashes look impossibly long, and Jack tries to catalog every single detail of this moment so he doesn't ever forget any of it.

Jack reaches up and puts a hand on Sam's bicep, and Sam opens his eyes and just blinks at him. Jack's breath catches in his throat and he says softly, "Shit."

"What," Sam says softly.

Jack shakes his head. “Nothing,” he whispers, and he pulls Sam down and kisses him. He catches Sam's lip between their teeth and Sam laughs, sharp and sweet. 

“Shit, ow," Sam murmurs, but he doesn't stop kissing Jack and Jack hooks an arm around Sam's neck and holds him close.

…

They lose in overtime to Toronto. Jack makes plans to go out with Matthews after the game, and he invites Sam but Sam shakes his head and says, "I'm kinda beat, but you go."

"You sure?" Jack is packing up his stuff, and he frowns at his bag.

Sam laughs a little. "Uh, yes, I'm sure," he says. "Please don't ask for permission to go out with your friends, I've never been a jealous boyfriend and I'm definitely _not_ gonna start now." 

It's a stupid thing to fixate on, but Jack can't stop thinking about it all night.

When Jack gets home later, the lights are on in the living room but nobody is up. He turns them out and goes down the hall to his bedroom, and when he pushes the door open his bedside lamp is on and Sam is curled up in his bed, asleep and wearing one of Jack's BU hoodies with the hood pulled up on his head.

Jack's heart clenches in his chest.

"Oh my god," Jack whispers. He changes into shorts and a t-shirt as quickly as he can, and as he turns out the lamp and crawls into bed, Sam takes a deep breath and lifts his head. "Hey," Jack whispers, "sorry."

"Heyyy, hi," Sam whispers back, and he stretches and pulls Jack into a hug, smiling against his neck. "Sorry, I fell asleep, how was your night?"

"Okay, literally _never_ apologize for that," Jack says, and he hugs Sam back. "It was good, nice to catch up."

"You told him about us," Sam whispers, and Jack knows it's not a question.

"Yeah," Jack says. He closes his eyes. "Is that cool?"

Sam nods. "Mmhmm, yeah," he says softly.

Jack is quiet for a minute. "I probably should've asked first, like, I know he's not gonna say anything? I just kinda thought, you know, when you said you're not a jealous boyfriend…" He pauses, and then he immediately feels stupid for bringing it up at all. _That was stupid, please forget I said that,_ he thinks desperately.

Then he feels even more stupid.

 _Sorry,_ Jack hears in his head, and then Sam whispers, "It's not stupid, I just figured we were like, you know. Doing this thing now."

"Wow, doing this thing," Jack echoes. "Sounds really official when you say it like that."

"What can I say," Sam says, "I'm a fucking romantic."

Jack can't help but laugh, and Sam laughs too and hugs him tighter. "I was thinking about it all night," Jack whispers.

"I know," Sam whispers back. He sounds almost giddy.

"You could've let me know sooner," Jack says.

"Why the fuck would I do that when I could just let you quietly panic about it for hours?" Sam says, grinning. "Way more fun to do it this way."

Jack rolls his eyes even though he knows Sam can't see it in the dark. "Sometimes you're an asshole," he says, but he doesn't mean it.

Sam laughs and kisses the side of Jack's neck, and Jack closes his eyes. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

Jack sighs. "Yeah," he says. "I really fucking do."


End file.
